


Amaranth

by tasteofhysteria (orphan_account)



Category: Latin Hetalia - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Steampunk, Now featuring Manuel: Sassy Engineer, Oh noes invalids
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-04
Updated: 2012-09-04
Packaged: 2017-11-13 14:07:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 836
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/504319
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/tasteofhysteria
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steampunk AU! In which Martín is an idiot (albeit a sick one) and Sebastián is made to clean up his messes. Just like always.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Amaranth

“And how long were you planning to keep this a secret, Martín? Until someone found your corpse from the smell? No, that would take ages. This entire city is rotting and it reeks. I told you to leave ages ago, didn’t I? You knew this was going around like Londinium’s Plague and you still stayed.”

“Of course I stayed,” Martín mumbled into Sebastián’s shoulder. “This is where the house is and so this is where I have to be. Stupid. I thought it would all blow over soon, just an overdramatic flu or something. So of course I stayed.”

“This house was about to become your crypt, you idiot,” Sebastián berated him heatedly, trying to hitch Martín’s weight upwards into a more manageable position to haul him downstairs into the waiting carriage. “And—and everyone was worried, you know. About you.”

“You liar.” Martín gave a hoarse laugh that dissolved quickly into a painful sounding cough even as Sebastián grimaced at being caught in his own lie. He stumbled slightly on the bottom stair.

“No, it’s true,” he insisted. “Dani was worried and Miguel had been asking for weeks why you hadn’t written back or come to visit or anything—”

“Did you worry too? About me?”

Sebastián blinked and turned his head slightly to catch a glimpse of one hazy green eye staring back at him; it was the only time Martín had managed to open his eyes in the past hour.

“Of course I worried. How can you ask that? Of course I did. I’m still worrying. I mean, I have to. You’ve been sick for so long and you still weigh so much—”

He laughed when Martín punched him in the shoulder and prayed that it was a fortuitous omen.

* * *

 

So steam ran the world and now steam was running Martín. Or at the very least, it was keeping him alive. His condition had deteriorated rapidly ever since Sebastián had forcibly removed (rescued, he insisted) from the old house in Buenos Aires, and now he couldn’t breathe on his own without the assistance of the respiratory oscillator. It was powered by massive amounts of steam, requiring vats of boiling water. The fireplace was constantly stoked to meet this demand, as was the kitchen stove, and the entire house felt like it was roasting.

“I don’t want you to think that I’m not appreciative, because I most definitely am,” Sebastián said quietly, simultaneously mopping sweat from his brow and trying not to wake Martín when he had finally managed to fall asleep. “But this…this contraption…”

“Respiratory oscillator.”

“Yes, that, thank you—your respiratory oscillator. There’s…there’s not a way we could run it by…a reserve tank of water or anything, is there? I know you did your best with almost no time at all, but I can’t—”

Manuel shot him a sideways look from narrowed eyes, lips pressed into a thin line.

“When did you last sleep, doctor?”

“Just Sebastián, Manuel, really—”

“When did you last sleep, doctor?”

Sebastián didn’t look up from the steaming kettle he was heating on the stove, his glasses fogged up with condensation. He inclined his head slightly in acquiescence with Manuel’s silent implication. When had he last slept? He hardly knew; his life had become hissing kettles, boiling water, doses of chamomile shoved down Martín’s throat, and the inadequate moments of rest that came when he fell asleep standing up while waiting for yet more water to boil. If it helped, then it would be worth it. Missed sleep was worth Martín’s recovery.

Manuel tipped his chair back, glaring at the ceiling thoughtfully. Sebastián could practically hear the cogs clicking together in the Chilean’s head as he discarded potential ideas as quickly as he formed them.

“Can you manage,” the sudden inquiry came, “for two more days or so?”

Sebastián blinked slowly, bleary gaze shifting from Manuel to the shrieking kettle to the wisps of sallow blonde hair visible above the blanket Sebastián had pulled over Martin’s head to keep the chill out.

“Well,” Sebastián said finally, “I guess I’ll have to.”

Manuel let the chair fall forward again with a loud clatter that set Sebastián’s teeth on edge.

“I’ll see if I can’t rig something up.” Manuel sniffed and aimed a kick at the bedstead before seeming to think better of it, folding his hands behind his head. “Just keep this idiot alive until then because I don’t really feel like wasting the fucking effort on a dead man.”

“Of course.” Sebastián turned back to the steaming kettle on the stove and pretended not to see Manuel’s reflection in the gleaming brass, pulling away the blanket and leaning down to whisper something low and quiet into Martin’s unheeding ear. By the time he turned back around, the blanket was back in place and Manuel was by the door, shrugging into his patched and well-worn coat, muttering to himself about vacuums and alternative heating sources. Without another word, he let himself out, disappearing into the dark streets. 


End file.
